


I Have A Crutch On You

by teaspoonofdoom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coda, Drinking wine from beakers, Episode Related, Fluff, Here we goo, If you like lame puns you might like this, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Edward Nygma, Pre-Relationship, Spicy Mustard (mention), Takes Place in 2x10 Between Oswald saving Jim and Jim waking up in Ed's apartment, and that's canon, dumb riddles, this kind of sucks sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 10:12:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaspoonofdoom/pseuds/teaspoonofdoom
Summary: "Please tell me you're coming home soon.""Yes, I am. Three blocks away actually." The light turned green. He started the engine and drove off."Thank Goddess!" Ed could almost visualise the way Penguin must have theatrically thrown his head back, gazing at the sky, well at Ed's ceiling actually. "I'm driving myself crazy. I may end up killing James Gordon in his sleep if you don't hurry up!"---Ed comes home from work and has to calm his new roommate down.Oswald can't wait to kill Galavan.Jim is having a freakish dream we don't get to see.And Gabe is doing his thing (Oswald made him).





	I Have A Crutch On You

Ed's cellphone rang. He didn't bother checking who it was. No one calls him. With the exception of the imfamous criminal Oswald Cobblepot. Ed from a week ago would have been positively ecstatic at the occurence, today's Ed sighed, stopped at a red light and answered the call.

 

"If you ate all of the spicy mustard, you'll have to survive a day without any, because I'm not going to the shop tonight." He said in one breath. The Penguin had bothered him with enough mundane matters in the last couple of days to last him the rest of his life.

 

"Ed? Hello?" _Marvelous_. He hadn't even heard him. Ed took a breath to repeat himself but was interupted by Oswald's pleading voice. "Please tell me you're coming home soon."

 

"Yes, I am. Three blocks away actually." The light turned green. He started the engine and drove off.

  
"Thank Goddess!" Ed could almost visualise the way Penguin must have theatrically thrown his head back, gazing at the sky, well at Ed's ceiling actually. "I'm driving myself crazy. I may end up killing James Gordon in his sleep if you don't hurry up!"

 

Ed could live with knowing detective Gordon died by the hand of the Penguin. By his hand or by his knife. At Ed's apartment. _By Ed's knife_. Shivers went up his spine. It would be a shame to know it happened but he missed seeing it. Was there any significant reason for the detective to be there, though? 

  
"Wait, what happened? Why is Gordon slee-"

 

"Just hurry!" And with that Penguin hanged up. Ed coudn't help but notice the two of them had developed this game of you would hang up first on the other. And he didn't keep track of whoever was winnig.

 

 

 

As he climbed the stairs to his front door, one of Penguin's goons (at least he guessed but who else could it have been), a large man with numb expression, was sitting on the stairway. The man (Gabriel?) eyed him and got a hold of his shotgun. Ed tapped his pockets in fright, looking for his keys. When he got them out the man lowered his weapon and nodded, something like a smile tugged at his lips as he turned to look down the stairs.

  
Ed unlocked the door and as he stepped in he was immediately hit by the strong and mostly unfamiliar scent of smoke and copper.

 

Oswald was dressed up. A three piece, shirt, tie, shoes. There used to be a time when Ed had known him only like that. From newspapers and police files. And from that one thrilling introduction.

 

Now it was strange for Ed to see him out of his own too big clothes.

 

His hair had been done, too, this much was obvious. But Oswald was currently running his hands throught it while walking in circles.

 

On the table there was an ashtray with some stubbed out cigarettes in it. Ed didn't own neither cigarettes nor ashtrays. Probably Gabriel had brought them to Oswald.

  
"Mr Penguin." Ed spoke up as he hung his coat.

 

"Oh, Ed, finally!" Oswald walked towards him, his limp prominent. Ed took a few steps forward as well. And the unconscious Jim Gordon laying on his bed came into view. He was bruised and bleeding. A cut on his cheek and numerous blotches on his shirt. This explained the chopper smell, too. 

 

Once he tore his graze from him he noticed Oswald was close to him. Looking up as if Ed was the one who should be providing answers. When Ed was the one with the questions. 

 

Will Jim's blood stain his covers? Will it destroy the traces of Oswald's scent on them? Did Oswald hate that he had to look up at people clearly below him? When had he learned to apply eye make-up? Who taught him? And which mirror had he used when he had put it on today? What were the odds of him forgetting to gather them and their tubes were still somewhere in here? In Ed's apartment.

 

"What happened?" His voice was way lower and quieter than he intended it to be. But it didn't need to be anything else. The apartment was quiet (the street traffic, audible despite the closed windows, was a white noise by now) and the two of them were close.

 

"Galavan." Oswald bit off, anger flashing over his face, and turned on his heel to pace around some more.

 

Ed could have guessed. It was _always_ Galavan. He slowly followed in Oswald's steps. 

 

"He is out there!" Untill the shorter man started walking around the table, throwing his hands in the air. Ranting as if more to himself than to Ed. "And if only Jim was awake right now to tell me where is he, I could be killing him this. Very. Moment."

 

"Gordon does have a tendency to ruin things for people." Ed muttered and Oswald looked at him at last. He took beaker from the table and poured some red wine in it.

 

"You talking to me?" He rised his glass up to Ed in salute, bitter laugh on his lips. Ed reached out and took it out of his hand. Ignoring the stare burning into the back of his head he spilled contents of the glass in the sink. It was cheap wine after all.

 

"You'd enjoy the kill more if you're sober."

 

"I am just as capable of murder while intoxicated as any other time, trust me, friend." He was of course. Ed knew he could kill him with close to anything on the table. Bash his head with the back of the ashtray, for example. Or brake a plate in two and stab his throat with one of the pieces. Or slice it open with a not-so-sharp kitchen knife.

 

Somehow the edge of the _friend_ hold more danger than these possibilities.

 

Ed dared to look over his shoulder and saw Oswald wasn't looking at him but rather at his bed. Maybe hoping he could wake Gordon up if he glared hard enough. 

 

Ed relaxed at that. He started making tea. It would help Oswald calm down, too. Possibly. 

 

He paid him no attention as he prepared the tea and the kettle. There wasn't anything he could do to make the water boil faster so he decided to approach Oswald and convince him to stop tiring his leg.

 

To his surprise the other man was sitting on the couch, rubbing at his ankle with a little frown on his face.

 

Ed swallowed the "I told you so" down. Mostly because he didn't voice it in the first place so it doesn't count. But also because Oswald didn't look so very angry at the moment. Still frustrated, and understandably so, but not exclusively mad at the world for letting Galavan roam free while his mother was laying six feet under. It was a begging.

 

That anger was present ever since Ed got to know him personally. Radiating off of him. A warning. Don't come any closer if you're not Galavan and ready for death. All the rage bubbling under his skin. Between his knuckles, itching to break a bone, to snap a neck. Or from under his nails, ready to digg and tore into flesh. Even in his damaged leg: to kick and stomp despite the white hot pain.

 

Ed was never practically good at staying away from the big DANGER signs. He sat next to Oswald on the couch. The other man ceased massaging his leg. As if embarassed at it. He shoudn't be. Ed instinctively reached and layed his palm over Oswald's.

 

Both of them froze. Oswald's wide eyes moved from Ed's hand over his to his face. Ed felt heat rise to it and hoped the green light from outside would hide his reddened cheeks. He slowly removed his  hand off of Oswald's and started rubbing circles into the skin below his still unmoving hand. He wished upon all his happy stars his actions seemed coherent and _not weird_. After a beat Oswald started moving his own fingers and Ed thought that maybe he hadn't overstepped any boundaries.

 

His other hand twitched, he'd been leaning on it the whole time. He rised it to shake off the tingle. It hung in the air above Oswald's thigh and Ed swore he heard the other man's breath hitch. _Perhaps due to pain_ , Ed reminded himself. Oswald sighed, nodded and looked away. Ed let his hand roam just above his knee. Feeling like he was allowed to touch a museum's exponent. Not that it was the same, Oswald's injury deffinately wasn't something he enjoyed watching, but the thrill and the feeling of this-can't-be happening. He felt the muscles spasm below his fingers. And he kept moving them up and down the tight knots in hopes he would release some of the tension, release Oswald from his pain.

 

Ed wasn't sure for how long had they both been massaging Oswald's leg but it felt like eternity. It wasn't. The tea kettle hadn't whistled yet.

 

"What did the man with the broken leg say to his doctor?" He blurted out. It wasn't even an actual riddle but maybe Oswald would hate it less because of that.

 

"Be gentler?" Oswald's voice came out a bit hoarse from not talking for a while (not letting any noise out really). Ed momentarily stilled his hand movements, untill he realised that was Oswald's answer. _He tried to answer!!_ Ed shook his head, smiling. And offered the correct one.

 

"I have a crutch on you." Oswald looked at him with more surprise than when he had told him he had started murdering people, his eyes wide, brows rised, lips parted, then something that resembled a realisation washed over his features. Ed, who didn't expect such a reaction, repeated with a breathless laugh: "A crutch."

 

Oswald joined him. His laught was more uneven huffs than anything else. It came out genuine. Made Ed's sound forced and nervous.  _What was Ed nervous about?_

"A crutch, mhm, very witty."

 

Just as their fit was dying down the tea kettle whistled. Ed reluctantly detatched his hands and noticed wrinkles on Oswald's trouser leg. He rose to his feet and took the distance to the kitchen countertop in two long steps.

 

"Would you like some tea? What kind-"

 

"Your pick. Do you want to play?"

 

Ed turned and saw Oswald by the piano. He looked lighter. Sat on the small chair and pressed a few keys. Ed nearly dropped a teacup.

 

"Ye-yes! In a minute."

 

**Author's Note:**

> And Ed drank his tea and joined Oswald on the piano ( who eventually got up) and they sang and they woke Jim up.  
> <3 Happy Valentine's Day


End file.
